


The Fall Guy (Nothing Like The Life of A Hollywood Stuntman)

by silverruffian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Demon Dean Winchester, Demons, Destruction, Exorcisms, F/M, Family, Films, Ghosts, Gremlins, Movie Reference, Plot Twists, Pop Culture, Protective Sam Winchester, Righteous Man, Romance, Stuntman Dean, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverruffian/pseuds/silverruffian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon Dean makes a new life for himself in Vancouver as an actor/stuntman, but someone is sabotaging the movie set and determined to put the blame on Dean. Sam is equally determined to bring his wayward big brother home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Part 1 – movie day** _

_This story begins and ends the same way. With a movie ticket._

_Some of this is true._

_Or maybe none of it is._

* * *

**Men of Letters Bunker**

**Lebanon, Kansas**

Two years after Dean Winchester died, two years after his body mysteriously disappeared from the Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, Sam Winchester felt the exact same stomach-churning dread he experienced on that awful day.

Sam held the demon killing blade at the ready as he entered the library. He looked calm on the outside, but inside he was a jumble of screaming nerve endings. What if Dean (or whatever had hijacked Dean's body) had decided to pay his brother a visit for old times sake? What would he do if he looked into smiling green eyes that flashed pitch black?

Truthfully? Sam had no idea.

His eyes flickered from right to left as he scanned the room for possible threats. His jangled nerves raised the hair at the back of his neck.

Nothing.

The library looked the same as it had the night before, but there was something different now: an envelope placed in the exact center of the table.

Sam stopped and stared.

He kept the blade raised as he cautiously approached. He leaned forward. He sure in the hell wasn't going to touch it. The paper was antique white, thick and expensive, certainly nothing from Office Depot or Staples. The words written on the outside sprawled across the paper, red and spiky. He recognized the handwriting, all right.

_Awww, poor Moose._

Sam scowled. Crowley. That bastard.

_Reboot your Squirrel hunt here. My treat._

The ink was probably human blood. The King of Hell had to keep his street cred up, of course.

Sam reluctantly lowered the knife. He stood there for a moment. He wanted to turn and walk away.

He wanted to pick the envelope up and open it.

Dean was his only weakness. Crowley knew that. Hell, demons everywhere knew that.

Sam finally lowered the blade, then reached out and picked up the envelope. For a wild moment his fingertips seemed to burn at the feel of the paper. Hellfire. Sam stiffened up, then realized as soon as he realized it was just his overactive imagination.

Nothing.

Whatever was inside was really thin. And small. That didn't make him feel any better. Curses had been cast with far less. He didn't trust any of this, and he damn sure didn't trust Crowley.

The flap was open. Sam held the envelope away from him as he turned it upside down and shook it.

A rectangle of stiff sky blue paper, two inches long, an inch wide, fluttered out. It made several graceful spirals in the air before landing on the polished wood surface face up.

Sam leaned in cautiously, then squinted at the words printed on the front:

**RUN FOR THE BORDER**  
Mon Mar 14 16 12:30pm 1  
**Majestic Cinema** PG13 1005  
1 Mat $5.00 **TMA 1**  
MajesticCinemadotnet  
Majestic 785-446-6888

It was a movie ticket.

_What the hell?_

* * *

_**Majestic Cinema** _

_**Lebanon, Kansas** _

The next day Sam Winchester walked up to the Majestic at approximately 12:20PM. The theater opened at noon during the week and this early in the afternoon there were only adults present. School was still in session. Sam was relieved about that. He didn't want kids around if things went south. Bad enough there were adults in the building.

The Majestic had six screens. Two of the movies were "chick flicks." A serious drama with Meryl Streep and Diane Keaton, the other a rom-com with Jennifer Lawrence and Scott Eastwood. Will Ferrell's latest offering was number three, then a godawful cartoon (fairy Barbie gone CGI) and a live action rip-off of some video game that Sam had never heard of before. That and _Run For The Border_ would be the ones the kids would most likely flock to after school let out later on that afternoon.

_Run for the Border_ had his full attention now. He'd researched the movie online the night before. Distributed by Warner Brothers. Starred Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Olivia Wilde. Critics' reviews were generally favorable, called it a "good, honest Western with creepy supernatural elements." The plot was pretty simple: A Texas rancher, his family and ranch hands were forced to flee their home. They made a desperate bid for the New Mexico border hotly pursued by all manner of hideous creatures. It was exactly the kind of movie Dean would have liked, and the thought of his long lost big brother sitting in the darkened theater laughing at all the movie stupid on the big screen made Sam's heart ache. His game face wavered just a little and then settled back, solid as stone.

Sam appeared casual and unconcerned as he walked through the lobby. Inside he felt pissed off and anxious at the same time. The people behind the concession stand were obviously underpaid and looked bored out of their minds. The smell of fresh buttered popcorn filled the air, a rich, heavy scent. Eating anything was the furthest thing from his mind. Sam's stomach was a rock, a sour, heavy lump.

He still didn't know what Crowley was up to, but he came prepared. The flask of holy water fit neatly into the inside pocket of Sam's jacket. The demon killing blade rested inside his leather belt sheath as well. He carried a pair of handcuffs inscribed with devil's traps in his outer pocket. Sam also had his Taurus PT92 tucked into his back waistband and another flask of holy water hidden inside his jacket pocket on the other side.

He showed his ticket to a bored employee to gain entrance, walked past the concession stand and headed into Auditorium One.

There were eleven other people in the auditorium. Adults playing hooky. No one turned around when he entered: most of them sat in groups of 2 and 3 and were too busy talking to each other.

He couldn't sit facing the door, so he picked the next best spot: the seat directly underneath the projection booth. From this vantage point he could keep an eye on all of them, even the stragglers who came in late.

The lights darkened. The previews were the usual stuff. Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's latest disaster flick. Liam Neeson in _Taken 4_. Two horny frat boy comedies. Chris Pratt as the new Indiana Jones.

Then the main feature started.

Immediately after the opening credits rolled five cowboys rode up to a barn on a ranch out in the middle of nowhere. The camera tracked them from behind. Each rider dismounted. The animals stood patiently, lathered up and tired out from the long ride. The cowboys gathered up the reins and one by one walked their mounts into the barn.

The last cowboy pulled his saddle off the back of a tall black Appaloosa horse with a short flippy tail and a spotted white rump. He slung the saddle and the blanket over his shoulders, picked up the reins and led the animal in. Sam couldn't see his face. The camera panned over him, then pulled back to include the entire scene, using the barn door as a frame.

Sam frowned. The way this one walked prickled his nerves. Too familiar.

Broad shoulders. Bow legs.

A gunfighter's strut.

There was no dialogue, just the slow motion thunk of boot heels and hooves against the ground, and the soft, faraway whickering sounds of the horses.

The last cowboy entered the barn. He led his horse into a stall and then turned to throw his saddle and blanket across a wooden railing nearby. His hair was hidden underneath his wide brimmed hat, his skin and clothes coated with grey trail dust.

He raised his head as he turned towards the camera.

Sam froze.

_Awww, poor Moose._

No. It couldn't be.

_Reboot your Squirrel hunt here._

Sam saw bright green eyes framed by impossibly long dark lashes. High cheekbones. Full lips. That all too familiar patrician nose.

Sam saw Dean.

TBC next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oops and credit given: The title of this fic is taken from Lee Majors' old tv show, The Fall Guy. Dean's name in this fic (Sonny Hooper) and the subtitle is taken from the lyrics of the theme song for Burt Reynolds' stuntman movie Hooper: There Ain't Nothing Like the Life of a Hollywood Stuntman.


	2. the new guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's hired to be Jensen Ackles' stunt double in the sequel to My Bloody Valentine: Heart of Darkness. Vampire Benjamin LaFitte is the assistant stunt coordinator.

Vancouver BC

The vampire leaning against the Lambert Hotel was a big male dressed in black. He had a neatly trimmed beard with a little grey around his chin, he didn't sparkle and he had sunglasses on. It was mid-afternoon, after all. The lore that "they only come out at night" was pure bullshit.

The vamp stood up straight when he saw Dean pull to the curb and park. Usually the car got a fair amount of attention. She was a 1968 Highland Green Bullit Mustang. Dean's current girl rumbled just as loud as Baby but her doors didn't creak. Despite that Dean liked her just fine. If she was good enough for Steve McQueen she was good enough for him.

Dean closed the door and slipped his keys into his jacket pocket. The vamp stood there staring. His eyes slid over the car and then focused on Dean.

"Benjamin LaFitte?" Dean called out as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

"Yep. Sonny Hooper?"

Dean nodded. That was the name on his paycheck nowadays anyway.

"Good to finally meet you," LaFitte said. He extended his hand and Dean took it. Dude's hand was cool and his grip was stronger than an average human. Dean matched the grip. They stared at each other long and hard. The weird sense of deja vu Dean experienced was freaky, as if he'd known LaFitte from another life. The handshake went on for another few seconds until it felt awkward and then it was over.

LaFitte drawled, "I never met a Knight of Hell with the Mark of Cain on a movie set before."

"Oh yeah?" Dean snarked. "And I never worked with a Cajun vampire slash assistant stunt coordinator before either."

LaFitte laughed. "Touche." He took off his shades. His eyes were bright blue. He grinned and the warmth reached his eyes.

Dean decided that he liked him.

"Where are my manners? My poor sainted Momma would slap me upside the head 'cause she taught me better than this. I was on set yesterday when you came around and Lou couldn't pull me out so I could meet you. My friends call me Benny."

"No problem. Good to meet you, Benny."

There it was again, another intense stare. Didn't last long, and Dean didn't take offense. "Damn. Did anyone ever tell you look just like Jensen Ackles?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I get that a lot lately."

"Did you ever see 'My Bloody Valentine'?"

"Yeah. Saw it on a double bill with that Friday the 13th reboot." Dean shuddered at the memory. "Valentine was okay. Friday the 13th was really movie stupid."

"I asked for my money back with that one." Benny pulled at the door handle and held it open. "Lou's inside already."

Dean walked inside. Benny followed him.

The lobby was huge; the floor was clean, immaculate. A large wooden counter sat over on the left, next to two elevators. Ornate light fixtures overhead. Expensive looking wood paneling and a large, hand painted mural depicting a lush green forest scene sprawled across the far wall. The doors and woodwork were polished wood grain.

The air in the place was a little stale, but judging from the condition inside the building obviously hadn't just sat there neglected.

"This old girl used to be one of the grand hotels in these parts," Benny explained. "Other studios use this location for movies and television."

Dean took it all in. An older black man in casual clothes stood by the stairwell. His name was Lou Graham. He had a broad, pleasant face. Dean heard the man's heartbeat, slow and steady and undeniably human.

"Glad you could make it, Hooper." Graham smiled. "No trouble finding this place?"

"Nope. None at all."

"Good. I wanted you to see the sets, get familiar with them before we start shooting. We'll set up shop here in a week or two." Graham indicated the stairwell with a wave of his hand. It was rather narrow for a building that size and ran all the way up to the ninth floor.

"Here's the set-up. The police chase Tom Hanniger into this building. He does a Spiderman up the stairwell, jumps from side to side until he reaches the ninth floor. At the top Tom jumps over the railing and is gunned down by SWAT units who were deployed on the ninth floor. He stays down for a beat, long enough for them to approach. Then he gets up and starts killing them all."

Dean nodded. "Nice stunt."

"You afraid of heights, Hooper?"

"Not anymore." Dean shook his head. "Call me Sonny."

"Okay, Sonny. Now you'll have a harness on for the ascent, manned by three riggers. I've worked with these guys before. They're the best. And of course we'll do rehearsals before the final shoot."

Dean looked up the stairwell and smiled. "You mind if I try something?"

"Try something?" Graham frowned. "Like what?"

Without another word Dean charged at the stairwell. He had a long, fluid stride.

"Hey, wait a minute!"Graham yelled out. "Don't-"

Dean took one last step, then launched himself upward, to the right. The height of the jump was impressive, easily more than six feet. His right foot landed on the outer ledge of the upper railing. He pushed off and turned to his left, with the exact same result, his legs and arms out and reaching, his foot landing in exactly the desired spot.

Dean pushed off again, this time to the right, then he pushed off again. When he landed on the left he lightly touched one of the wooden rail spindles with his left hand and then, just as quickly, jumped to the right again. Momentum carried him upward another six feet. He landed on the opposite side and pushed off again.

"What the hell-" Graham whispered.

Dean was two floors up already and climbing fast.

Second floor.

Third floor.

"Twenty bucks says he gets stuck halfway up like a cat in a tree," Graham muttered.

Benny laughed. "I'll take that bet."

"You're on." Graham took out his cell phone and started filming.

Up above Dean kept right on moving.

Fourth floor.

Fifth.

Benny shook his head. "Kid's moving like a machine. I'll let you out of the bet, Lou."

Graham huffed. "Never welshed before, not gonna start now, LaFitte."

Another leap upward, another push, first one side, then the other. Dean easily cleared the sixth and seventh floors.

Eight.

Nine.

Dean vaulted over the ninth floor railing. Then he turned and leaned over the balcony, smiled brightly and waved.

Graham and Benny waved back. "Take the elevator down and we'll go on to the next set," Graham called out. "I want to introduce you to the rest of the crew."

Dean gave a snappy salute, then pulled back from the edge and was gone.

Graham stared upward in wonder. "So that's a Knight of Hell, huh?"

'Yep." Benny grinned. He put his palm out.

"The insurance company's gonna have fits with that guy." Graham dug in his pockets, produced a crisp twenty dollar bill and slapped it onto Benny's palm.

Dean couldn't help smiling to himself. He swaggered over to the elevator and pushed the down button. Hell, he hadn't felt this good in a while. It felt good to show off. And why not? Why the hell not? What was the good of having all this mojo and not being able to show what he could do?

The phone rang. The ringtone was the opening chord of "Sympathy for the Devil."

He pulled his cell out, flipped it open and his smile darkened into a scowl.

Huh. No phone number. Just 666.

Damn.

The phone rang again.

Fuck it. Dean put the phone to his ear. He didn't say anything.

"Hello, Dean. That was a neat trick," the familiar voice purred. "I've got some high level targets in the Big Apple you could take care of. They live in tall buildings, too."

"Crowley," Dean growled.

"What can I say, I love to watch. "

"I told you I'm not working for you. Not now, not ever."

"That wounds me, Dean. Hurts me to my very soul. You ditched me, sport, you left me howling at the moon all by myself, and you're the one who's surly? That's not fair at all. "

The Mark of Cain stirred restlessly at the sound of Crowley's voice.

Dean lowered his voice. "What the hell d'ya want? I told you to leave me be."

"Does this mean we're not friends anymore? Maybe you can get me a ticket for your latest epic. 'My Bloody Valentine: Heart of Darkness', is it? I want front row seats for the world premiere. Four, please. You can do that, can't you? For old times' sake?"

Dean's eyes flickered to pitch black as he expanded his second sight to search all nine floors of the hotel.

"Oh, don't bother, boychick. I'm not there. No demons around, nothing for you to kill, unless you want to use the First Blade on that human and the vamp."

Dean blinked green just as the elevator door opened. He walked inside, turned and hit the button for the first floor. "No killing spree today. Not unless you want me to pay you a visit."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You lack vision, Squirrel."

"Watch it. I'm not your damn Squirrel."

"You have all the abilities of a Knight of Hell with the Mark of Cain. And what do you do with those powers beyond mortal men? You waste them. You become an actor." Crowley spat the last two words out as though they were a curse. "A bloody actor and a stuntman, no less. Working for pennies in the the motion picture industry, when you could sit on a throne made of solid gold and help me rule the perfect hell. What a waste."

"I'm hanging up on your sorry ass now."

"Would you like to know why you're acting like this? Why your soul didn't -"

Dean flipped the phone shut.

Hell  
The King's Throne Room

Crowley was not surprised at the sudden click. Dead air filled his right ear. Oh well.

The red-headed female minion holding up the ornate silver looking glass misinterpreted the slight frown that crossed the King's features. Her hands shook but she was careful not to drop the witchy glass. That would have earned her unimaginable punishment.

As it was, she was in luck. Crowley was amused. Very amused. At Dean's reaction. At everything, for the present time. He was in a very good mood. He grinned to himself as he flipped his phone shut and sat back on his throne.

"I'll take that as a no," he said mildly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC this week.


End file.
